If You Close Your Eyes
by ElsBells
Summary: Three times Rachel and Quinn are reunited. For Faberry Week Day One: Reunion.


**And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like you've been here before?**

Rachel's guests take up nearly a whole row in the small theater. They're a rag-tag bunch, Quinn notes with a smile—proud dads with teary eyes and hollering high school friends and a loud, red-faced, aggressively enthusiastic grandmother who turns and spontaneously hugs Santana and Puck every few seconds before the show starts.

Quinn sits at the end of the row. She's next to Jesse, who'd slithered out of the cracks of the city with a bombastic grin and the declaration that he'd personally invited Barbra to the show.

Quinn is still blonde, still brilliant and lost, but she'd come undone and unwound and more slouched and sloppier in two years of college, and she rolls her eyes when Jesse looks over at her gray blazer and scarf and flushed cheeks and tells her she's aged gracefully.

He's quiet and proud after that though, and Quinn is glad because she's intent on focusing solely on Rachel's performance.

The lights dim abruptly, and Santana's loud, "Oh shit," elicits a few snorts and hushes.

Quinn loses her breath when she first sees Rachel, and she's never been so on edge and excited and out of her wits for another person. She doesn't move for the whole first act—doesn't realize that her back is acting up and painfully stiff, her knees are locked into place, her hand has had Jesse's in a vice grip since "I'm the Greatest Star."

Rachel is incredible, of course. She's bright and playful on stage, perfectly at home, and she bounces around with her standout voice and prominent nose and a colorful accent that has Quinn smiling so widely her cheeks ache by intermission.

Jesse makes a show of prying Quinn's hand away from his.

"Quinn Fabray," Kurt calls from about fifteen seats away.

It captures the attention of every person in the row and Quinn sits forward and blinks at him, a little dazed in the sudden light. He points at her and nods his head violently towards the stage.

When Quinn stares blankly at him, he tips into Tina's lap and attempts to stage whisper—actually shouts—"Go see her, Quinn."

Nearly every person in their row nods immediately, offers loud, enthusiastic agreement. Quinn's back twinges painfully and all eyes are on her. She's handed flowers by Rachel's dads, a card from Mercedes, a parking ticket from Santana—which Quinn flings right back at her.

"I'll show you the way." Jesse offers, and he stands and takes Quinn's hand, waits patiently until her back stops popping and she's solid on her feet again.

Quinn briefly wonders how the hell Jesse knows his way around the twisting passages that lead to Rachel's dressing room, but then she's presented with a door and a brass-plated "Rachel Berry—Fanny Brice," and her breath catches again.

Jesse kisses her cheek and grins at Quinn's expression, the way she can't tear her eyes from Rachel's name.

"I'll keep your seat warm." He promises. "I told Barbra I'd save one."

He knocks twice on Rachel's door and then backs away with a wave, and Quinn takes a deep breath, checks the collar of her blazer, her fly, runs a hand through her hair and smiles shakily at Rachel's excited, "Come in!"

Rachel's spinning around on a chair when Quinn steps through the door. She gasps and tries to stop herself, ends up tripping away from the chair a little bit, and she rushes forward and barrels into Quinn, a familiar happening by now.

"Oh my God!" she shrieks, and she's squeezing Quinn tightly, warmly, with her nose jammed against Quinn's shoulder and her hands solid and gentle on Quinn's back.

Quinn laughs into her dark hair and hugs her back as best she can with one arm and a bouquet of variegated flowers crushed between their bodies.

"I thought you couldn't come?" Rachel pulls back, eyes wide and shining. She's searching Quinn's face, gripping both of Quinn's arms. "You had an exam."

"It was rescheduled."

"Really?" Rachel looks hopeful, like there's a possibility Quinn will turn and walk out right now.

Quinn smiles, nods.

Rachel reaches up and adjusts Quinn's blazer by its lapels, tugs on her scarf and then pats invisible dirt from her shoulders. "I'm really glad you're here."

"From all of us," Quinn says softly, handing over the flowers. She can't actually remember who they're from—maybe Rachel's dads—but they'd been passed down the whole row, so it was a group effort.

Rachel presses her face into them, smiles and sniffs like she's never received flowers before, and Quinn is stuck on her eyes, the dimples in her cheeks, the curve of her nose.

Rachel looks back up at her, opens her mouth to say something—maybe "They're beautiful" or "Thank you"—but Quinn tips forward and kisses her before she has the chance. It's not the first time, hopefully not the last, just one of many, always clumsy and special.

Quinn holds Rachel's cheek in her hand, runs her tongue along Rachel's lower lip and realizes she tastes like honey from her tea. Rachel's ears are red when Quinn pulls back. She's biting her lip and trying not to smile too wide and Quinn is taken.

She laughs and kisses the corner of Rachel's mouth and backs out of the open door.

"You're doing incredibly." She says fondly. "I'll see you soon."

Rachel stands in her dressing room and beams.

…..

December in Paris is a dream for Quinn—twinkling lights along the Champs-Élysées, warm Christmas markets, cinnamon everything, holiday concerts and ice rinks and snow slush and boots.

She's been there for six weeks for a study abroad section of her English Master's program and her tiny hotel room is consistently frigid at night, but they feed her croissants and fresh bread and jam every morning so it evens out.

She shuts the door behind her, locks it in three places, pries off her boots and winces at the cold seeping through her socks. She shucks off her coat and tips right into the narrow bed in the corner, curls up in the dark with her head under the blankets and sighs despondently because it still isn't enough.

She's shaking, and her eyes are burning before she can catch herself.

Her phone vibrates, lighting up her cocoon under the covers, and Quinn clears her throat and quietly answers, "Hey, baby."

She's met with silence for a moment, and then, "What's wrong?"

Quinn can hear traffic in the background, maybe wind. Rachel's speaking loudly to be heard.

"I'm fine." Quinn insists, but her voice is thick and sad and she's not sure she can feel her toes. "Where are you? It's loud."

Rachel muffles the receiver and speaks to somebody else, and Quinn waits patiently in her quiet little room.

"Sorry, honey. I just got a cab. Are you sure you're okay?" Rachel says gently. "How was your day?"

Quinn mulls it over and all she can come up with is, "I miss you."

Normally she'd talk about her classmates, her friends Anna and Jeremy, French literature and language and history, the trips she takes out of the city and the endless varieties of jam that her hotel provides.

The noise seems to be fading on Rachel's end when she says, "I miss you too."

"I'm ready to come home." Quinn admits.

"Only three more days."

Quinn sighs. At least she's warming up. She uncurls slightly and lifts up the blankets to let some air in. She opens her mouth to ask Rachel about rehearsals but an abrupt, loud knock on her door makes her chest seize.

She throws the covers off and sits up, wide-eyed.

"Quinn," Rachel says, and Quinn remembers that she's holding a phone in her hand.

"Someone's knocking on my door."

"I think you should get it."

Quinn frowns. "What? It's past midnight. It could be—"

There's another knock, a pattern this time, and Quinn can hear the smile in Rachel's voice when she says, "Open the door, baby."

Quinn gasps, and she's frozen on her miniature bed for only a moment before she's up and tripping towards the door. She unbolts the three locks and swings it open and Rachel's standing there, smiling widely with a red nose in about nine layers of clothes, even though New York is probably colder than Paris at this time of year.

Quinn grabs onto her, holds her fiercely, breathes her in because six weeks is far too long, and she's crying quietly before she can help herself. Her tears run into Rachel's hair and Rachel stands—strong and warm, despite the frigid air—and holds her up.

"We're okay, baby." Rachel murmurs.

Quinn sniffles, nods. They can't feel much of each other, all soft cotton and scratchy wool and leather gloves. Rachel quietly says, "I smell like airplane and feet," and Quinn laughs thickly and drags her fully into the room.

It's littered with books, articles, thick scarves and socks, loose papers and journals and photos of Judy and Frannie, Rachel and friends. Rachel drops a small bag on the floor and looks at Quinn, eyes sparkling.

Quinn rubs at her eyes, pulls on her clothes because she's realized she was bundled in a ball under the blankets and she must look like a rumpled mess. Rachel smiles warmly when Quinn finally glances at the mirror on the wall, at the state of her fluffy blonde hair and the tear tracks on her pink cheeks.

"I'm so glad you're here." Quinn says, giving up on her appearance. It's a lost cause tonight.

Rachel presses up against her, kisses her sweetly and locks her arms around Quinn's lower back. She nuzzles Quinn's cheek and whispers, "I have something for you."

"In bed, first." Quinn says, pulling Rachel towards their only source of warmth.

"It's—wait, let's—"

"It's so cold, baby. Come on." Quinn insists. She climbs back under the covers and frowns when she sees that Rachel hasn't followed her. Rachel looks conflicted, hovering in the middle of the room. Quinn pouts, holds a hand out, and Rachel laughs lightly and kicks off her boots. She pulls something out of her wool coat and then takes it off and drapes it over a pile of Quinn's clothes.

"Your room is in shambles," she jokes, climbs into the tiny bed and cuddles up with Quinn, "I love it."

She settles in but doesn't let Quinn pull the blankets over their heads yet.

"It's freezing." Quinn complains, pressing as close to Rachel as possible.

"Just a minute."

Quinn runs her hands over Rachel's sides, pulls at all her clothes, smiles. "Do you have enough layers on, honey?"

Rachel holds her amused gaze. She wriggles one of her arms up from the blankets and holds out a small velvet box. She opens it to reveal a princess cut diamond ring, a simple, brilliant thing, and Quinn's smile fades to shock.

Rachel rubs her girlfriend's hands to warm them up, kisses the corner of her mouth and cuddles closer. It's a tiny room and a tiny bed, but it's Paris and it's incredible and if you look from the right angle, you can see a segment of the Eiffel Tower from Quinn's window. Lights twinkle outside and Rachel's warm in Quinn's bed.

"I love you, baby." Rachel whispers, watching Quinn's eyes. They're shining and full, flitting from Rachel's to the ring.

"I wanted to wait to do this, maybe in the daylight or over a romantic dinner."

Quinn snorts lightly, presses a hand over her mouth.

Rachel grins. "But I got in the taxi and knew that I'd be asking you tonight."

"Rachel…" Quinn sits up on an elbow, just so that this memory isn't sideways in her mind.

Rachel does the same, holds Quinn's hand under the blanket. "You're brilliant, Quinn Fabray, and I'll love you forever."

Quinn swallows, enthralled.

"So I'm asking you—"

"Yeah—yes. Yes." Quinn fumbles.

Rachel smiles, squeezes her hand. "Right here, in this tiny bed because I just couldn't wait. Will you marry me?"

"_Yes_." Quinn insists again, and it's choked and small and her hair is a mess and she tips forward and presses her face into Rachel's neck. "Absolutely, of course, yes."

Rachel chuckles and runs her fingers through tangled blonde hair. With some struggle—because Quinn's content to not move an inch—Rachel slips the ring onto Quinn's finger and then pulls the blankets up over their heads.

Quinn keeps her eyes closed, her face tucked against Rachel's neck. She twists a hand up in one of Rachel's many layers and laughs because Rachel's outrageous and perfect.

"I love you for not waiting." She says against her ear.

Rachel smiles. "I love you too."

….

Their flight is delayed because of a winter storm passing through Ohio, but they spend the extra time eating pumpkin muffins with Rachel's dads and get into New York only two hours late. Rachel has her own black bag slung over one shoulder and a tiny Batman backpack over the other, and she holds tightly to Benjamin's hand as they disembark the plane.

Benjamin watches everything with wide hazel eyes, slows their pace a bit, but Rachel just smiles down at his dark mess of hair. He's three now, a curious, jolly, playful thing with Quinn's winsome smile and eyes, and Rachel nods when he points and agrees with his observations.

"It's still—it's still day." He says, almost shocked, when they pass by a window.

Rachel hums. "It's very bright, isn't it?"

"Yeah, the sun."

Rachel swings him up onto her shoulders when they get to the arrivals area, and she drops both of her bags but Benjamin laughs loudly and wraps his arms around her head when she bends to pick them up.

Their hair blends together, dark and curled and tangled, and Rachel tugs on his little toddler boots and says, "Look for mommy, Benji."

Benjamin sits up straight with both hands on top of Rachel's head and does as he's asked. Rachel scans the crowd herself, surprised that she can't see her wife. She walks forward and spins around, eyes narrowed, and she catches a familiar mess of blonde hair several chairs away.

Quinn's slumped back in one, fast asleep, with her glasses askew and her scarf and coat and layers all blended into a muted wooly blur.

Rachel snorts lightly. It's their anniversary, so she'd almost expected something more special, but she smiles and points and asks, "Benji, who's that?"

It takes a moment, but he exclaims, "Mommy!" and then he's gripping Rachel's ears and scrambling for her to let him down, and Rachel does and drops all her bags again while he hurries forward to greet Quinn. He's not subtle about it at all, and he clumsily climbs right into Quinn's lap and wraps his arms around her neck.

Rachel winces when Quinn jerks awake—confused, disoriented—but Quinn quickly realizes what's happening and smiles widely and wraps Benjamin in a warm hug. She kisses his cheeks and blows a raspberry into his neck, greets "Hey little man, I missed you," while Benjamin laughs loudly.

Her voice is thick and congested and raw, and Rachel realizes with a rush of sympathy that her wife is sick. She pouts when she catches Quinn's gaze, and Quinn stands and settles Benjamin in the chair with some Starburst. When she looks at Rachel, her nose is red and her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed and watery behind her glasses.

She pulls Rachel into a tight embrace, presses a kiss to her neck and lingers there and whispers, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart," right against her ear.

Rachel smiles at the warmth. She says, "I missed you," and then pulls back and holds onto Quinn by the loop in her wooly gray scarf. "You're sick."

"You shouldn't stand so close to me."

Rachel scoffs, tips up to kiss Quinn's mouth and cheeks and Quinn laughs.

"I wanted to take you straight to dinner," Quinn admits, "and then to see a show in the park and to that little market that sells those pastry things you like."

Her voice is low and hoarse, and Rachel wants nothing more than to feed her soup and Jell-O and wrap her in blankets and read her _Gulliver's Travels_ on their anniversary.

"But then I woke up and I couldn't breathe." Quinn says wryly. She turns away to cough and it's congested and phlegmy and painful and Rachel rubs her arm.

"Easy, baby."

"It's going around the department." Quinn says, fixing her glasses.

Benjamin pats Quinn's thigh then, absently says, "Mommy," and she smiles and lifts him up and settles him on her hip. He leans his head against her shoulder and twists a hand into her scarf.

Quinn picks up Rachel's bag with her free hand, the Batman backpack, and looks back at her wife. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I know it's not what you were expecting."

Her hair is sticking up from how she was slouched in the chair, and she looks exhausted and adoring and just a little bit hopeless, and Rachel smiles softly and shakes her head, takes her hand.

"This is perfect."


End file.
